


samson went back to bed

by nylandeer



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Brandon Wheat Kings, Hands, M/M, billet bros, even though you're definitely thinking about your best friend while jerking off, hair cutting, telling yourself youre not thinking about your best friend while you jerk off, weather and temperature as a heavy handed metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nylandeer/pseuds/nylandeer
Summary: “He claims he has the best hair in the Western Hockey League,” says teammate Tanner Kaspick. “He’s not afraid to say that.”Tanner cuts Nolan's hair in his basement for free (he's very talented, Patrick promises).-"Prospect Interrupted" -Kristina Rutherford, Sportsnet





	samson went back to bed

**Author's Note:**

> If you or anyone you know is in this work, please don't read this.
> 
> I can't remember if Tanner and Nolan were actually billet bros but we're rolling with that because I have creative freedom shhhh.
> 
> Title from Samson by Regina Spektor. Very on the nose with this one.
> 
> There's literally no beta to this god I'm sorry fam if i dont just spit shit out it never happens so.
> 
> Nolan is 17 in this i guess and tanner is 18 so. If that's not for you I'm sorry.

It's November. The bus is dark and warm, the smell of the radiator and feet heavy in the air. It's late, a little past midnight, full of the deadened quiet that only comes after a brutal loss. Nolan had scored, sure, but they'd still lost 7-1, and the Pats were fucking amazing this year, but it never feels  _good_ to lose. Even less so because Tanner is in his draft year, stressed out beyond belief, trying to prove himself, and all this losing isn't fucking helping his case. Not to mention Nolan's knee is acting up, and the cold winter made the long healed breaks in his collarbone ache like hell.

Beside Nolan, Tanner clicks off his phone and slumps against the window of the bus, his breath condensing against the glass. Nolan slumps against his best friend, and Tanner runs a playful hand through Nolan's hair.

"Hair's getting a little long," he says with a soft laugh. "Soon you'll have to relinquish your title of best hair in the dub."

"In your dreams," Nolan replies.

"I can cut it if you want."

"You'll probably fuck it up on purpose, Kas."

"Nah, I'm actually pretty good. I cut Stelios' hair."

"Sure," Nolan yawns. "Wake me up when we get back."

The bus lights snap on soon after, rudely waking Nolan.

"Morning sunshine," Tanner laughs, shoving him gently. "I got your bag, meet me at the car?"

Nolan nods, stumbles off the bus and into the brisk Manitoba winter, finds Tanner's truck in the rink lot. He stands there, watching his breath make clouds in the cold air and pulls his coat tighter around him, waiting for the click and the flash of lights when tanner unlocks the cab.

They drive home together without speaking, soft country music warbling from the dash, the hum of the truck engine, streetlights casting bars of light and shadow across the two boys.

"Meet me in the basement in five?" Tanner asks as they pull in to the driveway.

"Basement?"

"Hair cut, genius."

"Right. Basement. Five."

Tanner unlocks the door and the boys trudge slowly up the stairs together, ducking into their neighboring rooms at the top. Nolan shrugs his bag to the floor and plugs in his phone before taking off his suit. He debates just leaving it on the floor, but ultimately decides ironing it tomorrow will be more annoying than taking the two minutes to hang it up. He hooks the hanger over the closet door and shrugs on a t-shirt from the pile of dirty laundry. It's an old Tragically hip shirt, and the hem just hits the wast of his boxers, a strip of winter white skin showing if he raises his arms.

He slips back outside and pads down the stairs, his socked feet soft against the shaggy carpet. The door to the basement is cracked open, light shining through the sliver of open space. He opens it quickly to avoid the creak of the cold hinges, and clicks it shut behind him. Tanner is already down there, quiet music coming from an iphone placed in a bowl.

He's got an old folding chair set out in front of him with an old hockey bag under it, a makeshift tarp. On the table next to the bowl with his phone are scissors and a comb. Tanner's got an electric razor in his hand, switching out the blades with careful hands.

"Hey," Nolan almost whispers when he reaches the bottom of the stairs.

It's cold in the basement, and his arms prickle with goosebumps.

"Hey," Tanner says with a smile, and gestures towards the chair.

Nolan sits, the metal of the chair biting from sitting in the basement all winter.

"Take off your shirt bro, otherwise it'll never not have hair all over it."

"Yeah, yeah," Nolan says, pulling on the collar to haul the old shirt over his head. He tosses it into the corner, makes a mental note not to forget it there.

"What d'ya want," Tanner asks from behind him, placing his hands on Nolan's shoulders.

"I dunno," Nolan replies, suddenly very aware of Tanner's hands -their soft fingers, calloused palms, slight bite of nail, their heft and warmth. "Just shorter I guess. I dunno man, I trust you."

Tanner laughs. "Okay, hold still."

Nolan does trust him, is the thing. Would trust him with his hair, with a pass on an open net, probably with his life.

Tanner goes to work behind Nolan, first scissors clicking over the shell of his ear, then the buzz of the razor loud and droning. Nolan doesn't really hear any of it, all drowned out by the sound of his heartbeat thundering in his head as he feels the brush of Tanner's fingers through his hair, across his scalp, dusting hair from his bare shoulders.

The goosebumps are from the cold, he swears.

The click buzz, click click buzz continues for what seems like an eternity, interspersed with all too quick moments of Tanner touching Nolan. Directing his head to one side or the other, covering his ear with a palm, the glance of a finger as he works the scissors. For one brief, heart stopping moment, Tanner is very close to his neck as he buzzes the hair at the nape of Nolan's neck. His breath is warm, cutting through the cold air for just a second, and then the cool metal of the scissors is back, gone as soon as it had begun.

"Okay," Tanner says, stepping out in front of Nolan with a mirror in his hand. "What do you think."

Nolan looks at himself in the mirror. The long flow is gone, instead sculpted into a long on top, shaved on the sides style.

"I thought it would look good. Don't look like you're 14 anymore," Tanner quips, almost nervous. Nolan looks up from the mirror to see Tanner's worried eyebrows.

"It's great Tanner. I love it," Nolan says with a sleepy smile. He does love it. And Tanner was right, he looks a little older, not so baby faced with his rosy cheeks.

"Okay, okay sleepyhead. You're welcome. Get yourself off to bed before you fall asleep in that chair and freeze to death." Tanner ruffles Nolan's hair fondly, a loose piece falls in his eye.

"It's not that cold," Nolan shoots back.

"Then why's your whole chest got goosebumps?"

Nolan blushes furiously and looks at his feet before darting toward the stairs.

"Night, bud," Tanner calls after him. "Love you."

"You too," Nolan tosses over his shoulder as he hustles up the stairs.

He's all the way up both sets of stairs before he realizes he's half hard in his boxers, and practically throws himself through the bedroom door and onto his bed at the realization.

When he jerks off that night, heavy with exhaustion, hand dragging his foreskin over the head of his cock, almost painfully slow, he tells himself he's not jerking off to the thought of his best friend's hands. He doesn't, however, try to stop himself from thinking about Tanner's hands, big, heavy, calloused, moving with soft precision over his head and neck and shoulders. He comes in his hand, an agonizing punch of an orgasm, and wipes his hand on a tissue from the nightstand.

It's not a big deal.

\--

It's February. Dead of winter in Manitoba, several feet of snow cover everything. They turned it around, pulled out of a painful losing streak, Tanner on a scoring tear, Nolan doing pretty handily for himself. Scouts are around in hordes now, perching in the top row of every game in well ironed suits, typing furiously on their phones during stoppages in play.

And Tanner keeps cutting Nolan's hair.

They'll be on the bus, or in the locker room, in Tanner's truck and one of them will suggest Nolan needs a haircut -usually Tanner- the other will shrug in agreement, and they'll retreat to the basement. It's become a ritual of sorts, another thing for careful superstitions, something to put their minds at ease.

"Maybe I should go to beauty school," Tanner quips as his scissors click click over Nolan's left ear. "Fuck hockey, just become a hairdresser."

Nolan laughs, tries to rub the goosebumps from his arms.

Later, he jerks off under his heavy down comforter, no longer pretending he doesn't think about Tanner's hands, about Tanner.

\--

It's April. Playoffs have started, and they're setting fire to the world. The snow is mostly melted, but a chill still hangs in the air, the basement is still cool as Tanner works over Nolan's head with ease now.

"What're you gonna do when I get drafted and I can't cut your hair anymore?" Tanner asks, brushing clipped hair from Nolan's bare shoulder.

"Dunno," Nolan says. Of course it wasn't likely that Tanner makes some NHL team out the gate, and he can't play in the AHL, but at some point... Nolan knows what's being said about himself already. Knows top picks usually start in the NHL. They're running on borrowed time. "Guess I'll have to start going to a professional."

"Screw you!" Tanner yells, chuffing Nolan upside the head. "I'm practically a professional."

"And I'm practically a goalie, but you don't see me trying to take over the net during a game."

Tanner sets the scissors down with a heavy clink and tackles Nolan off the chair.

"Take it back," he shrieks, trying to force Nolan into a headlock.

They tussle on the floor for a few minutes, and Nolan does his level best to both ignore and file away every grip of Tanner's hands around his arms, legs, waist. Eventually, the half dozen centimeters and couple kilos Nolan has on the other boy win out and he pins Tanner to the floor. There's sheared hair all over both of them, and they're both sweaty and laughing.

"Mercy," Tanner gasps. "You win. I'll fly back from wherever I go to cut your hair once a month now until forever."

"Twice a month, and you say that like I'm still gonna be in Brandon."

"My bad, Mr. twenty-seventeen first overall pick."

"Shut up," Nolan squawks, shoving Tanner's face into a pile of hair clippings.

Later, Nolan plays back everything in his mind as he jerks off. He remembers the weight of Tanner straddling his chest, the feel of his hands wrapped around his wrist, long fingers splayed against Nolan's back, face, stomach. He comes hard, face buried in the pillow, and realizes he is completely screwed.

"Fuck," he whispers to the empty room.

\--

It's June. They lost. They fucking lost. They won. WHL champs and all that shit. And then they lost. No one was gonna beat the Knights. If Nolan and Tanner had been lighting the world on fire, Mitch Marner and his band of merry men were dropping atomic bombs left and right. They rolled through the OHL like it was nothing, then did the same to the Mem Cup. It didn't matter though. Nolan was fucking pissed. His knees were killing him, and he was pretty sure he had torn his groin somewhere along the way. When he wasn't on the ice, he could barely stand for longer than a minute or two. He knew he'd need surgery, and he was fucking terrified. Surgery going into his draft year? What a fucking nightmare.

They got back to the rink at 3am, after a short, agonizing flight, and a shorter and somehow more agonizing bus ride. Coach dismissed them immediately. Go sleep. Come back tomorrow to debrief. Proud of you, you did your best. All that bullshit.

"I'll grab the bags, No," Tanner whispers to him as they walked off the bus, slipping his keys into Nolan's hand. "Just go get in the truck."

Nolan does, too blinded by anger and sadness to do anything but listen. Soon after, he hears the soft -thud thud- of Tanner tossing their bags into the truck bed, followed by Tanner climbing into the driver's seat.

"Gotta get you a hair cut, bud," Tanner says as he started up the car.

"Whatever," Nolan huffs out.

When they got home, however, Nolan goes upstairs, drops his bags, strips down to his boxers and socks, and trudges down to the basement.

"Sit down," Tanner instructs, and Nolan does. Tanner goes to work.

They don't say anything, but slowly, Nolan feels the tension release from his shoulders, feels the stress and anger melt away as Tanner clicks, buzzes, brushes his fingers through Nolan's hair.

All too soon, it's over.

"Oh shit," Tanner laughs, walking out in front of Nolan and across the room. He picked something off the floor from the corner of the room. "It's your hip t-shirt. From the first haircut."

"Fuck, I thought I'd lost it."

Tanner crosses back to stand in front of Nolan and brushes stray hair from his shoulders, starting to freckle from intermittent early summer sun.

"Arms up," Tanner instructs.

Nolan obeys, and Tanner slips the shirt over his arms and head. When he emerges from the dark of the fabric, it strikes Nolan how close Tanner was to his face. His fingers brush over Nolan's arms, raising the hair there. In a moment of temporary insanity, Nolan leans forward and kisses him.

His heart feels like it's stopped for 1... 2... 3... full seconds and then Tanner is kissing him back. Tanner's hands move from Nolan's arms to his shoulders to his neck, one oh so familiar tangling in his hair at the nape of his neck.

"Fuck," Tanner groans into Nolan's mouth, before moving to kiss across his jaw and down his neck.

"Fuck," Nolan groans in agreement as Tanner sucked at his neck. "I thought about this. Since the first time you cut-"

"Me too," Tanner mumbles against his neck. "Me too."

And suddenly, Tanner is on his knees in front of the chair.

"Can I uh," he says, gesturing to the boxers taut over Nolan's crotch.

"Oh fuck ye- I mean have you done this before?"

"No," Tanner muses, hooking his fingers into Nolan's boxers. "But I figure I know what I like, I can probably figure it out."

He nudges at Nolan's hip and he lifts his ass off the chair, allowing Tanner to pull his boxers off in one smooth motion. To his credit, Tanner seems undaunted by Nolan's cock springing up in front of him, but Nolan has to remind himself it's not the first time his teammate has seen him naked.

Tanner steadies himself with one hand at the base of his cock and one on his hip, and licks the underside of Nolan's cock in one long stripe. Nolan groans, and Tanner takes the head into his mouth, his tongue flat against the underside. It's Nolan's turn now to fist his hand in Tanner's hair, gently guiding him on and off Nolan's cock. Tanner is incredibly enthusiastic, doing his best to take in as much of Nolan as possible, despite the tears welling in his eyes. The sounds he's making are obscene, as he slowly builds a rhythm.

All too fast, Nolan can feel his orgasm building, and he groans "I'm gonna come."

Tanner pulls off but doesn't move fast enough, and Nolan's come hits him across the face in long stripes. It clings to the tip of his nose and drips off his eyelashes. Tanner plunges a hand into his pants and comes with a cry, pressing his face against Nolan's thigh.

Nolan leans down and wipes the cum off of Tanner's face with his thumb, presses it into Tanner's mouth, where he sucks with greed. Nolan leans down to kiss him, and he tastes like sweat and come, salty and perfect.

"That's the best fucking hair cut I've ever had," Nolan says when he pulls away.

"Can't get that from a professional," Tanner laughs, head resting against Nolan's thigh again.

His lips are red and his face is absolutely wrecked. Nolan is fucked. He is so fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> No seriously, Tanner cuts (or cut now I guess) Nolan's hair in his basement. That's a real thing.
> 
> Come find me on the other places I lurk on the internet, watch me spiral out of control; [tumblr](http://www.nylandeer.tumblr.com/).


End file.
